Finding Voice
by Lied89
Summary: <html><head></head>Effy tells us about her life and how the things that happened to her influenced the development of her voice through Season 1 and 2. - Eventually also Season 3 and 4. Still working on it. Give me some feedback to know what you think. Thanks!</html>
1. Season 1, Part 1

**Season 1 Part 1**

I never talked. I saw no sense. Life passed me. I took it all in. But I didn't feel the need to participate actively. Everyone else did enough for me to have to. Also who would have cared. It was much more interesting to watch and not influence them. Because if I did they wouldn't be who they were anymore. You change when in interaction. And silence challenged people, it irked them when you sat next to them saying nothing, no matter what they did. It provoked their real self to break through. And I watched it happen. Otherwise I let them be and so did they.

If I spoke, and back when I was young that was like never, I spoke because it was necessary. Because someone I cared about might have stayed stuck otherwise. Just that there weren't many I cared about. But when I spoke I told them what I saw. I commented. Brief but cutting. I chose my words carefully, seeing everyone else's intellectual ejaculations spewing from their mouths without care or thought. Dumb.

To talk and put yourself out there, present yourself - or the projection of the being you want the world to believe is yourself - on an open platter is simply dumb. You are standing there, your arms stretched out over your head, screaming, "Here I am." leaving your sides open for any and every poisonous dagger from the world. For people like me who watch and store the information. People that know to use them later on.

That was not me though. I never used what I saw against anyone. I respected their souls enough, treasured the looks they let me take inside. I simply stayed silent and sometimes allowed myself to smile when they fulfilled their own prophecy's, stumbled on their way and maybe at the end came out whole anyway. When they were surprised about what they did when I had seen them pave their own path. Good or bad. Mostly bad though. We're all men.

Me I was the silent girl. Me I was the girl who people were mystified with. They hated me when I looked at them, but at the same time couldn't help but be intrigued, couldn't help but reflect on themselves because I gave them space to do so. Maybe find a piece of themselves through me, not even having to have said a word. And that...that made them love me.

It was like I was their mirror and people like seeing themselves. Not at the start, it's uncomfortable. But later they grow with it. And so it came that after a while I had them enclosing me. Without having to say a word. Without making an effort. It just happened. I attracted people. I didn't need friends. I didn't want friends. I saw no sense in them. If I needed someone to party, drink, get drugs from, do the craziest stuff with, they found me, and I chose if they were good enough, interesting enough. Useful.

People see me and see my body. I know I'm quite blazing. Sometimes I feel cheap, but I know I'm fucking hot. They all want me. And back then when they noticed I didn't speak, they saw it as invitation. Believed I'd be impressable. Believed I'd be an easy mark. I ignored them. Except I felt myself letting them have their fun. Playing with them. Letting me be that person. Take their drinks and drugs and go high. Let myself go. Stop thinking. Stop thinking, Effy.

Everything spins then. And it's nice. It's nice not seeing everything. It's nice letting the world drown out. Conversations become unordered sentences, sentences lose words, words a scribble of unformed letters. Colors blur and finally nothing makes sense anymore but the blood rushing hotly through my veins, my heart pumping in ecstasy and my breath keeping me alive.

That's my life. Me seeing and sometimes needing an out.

I kept schtum as I was young. But one day things changed and came crashing down. One loud literal BAM. Tires screeching and me hearing my voice screech, experiencing it like not belonging to me. Loud and pained. My voice. Loud and with emotion. It's the moment it became a fertilized egg and started growing.


	2. Season 1, Part 2

_Author's Note:  
>Thanks for the latest review Ano Nymous and making me look this up again. I can't stand unfinished things, so I decided to at least finish Season 1 with putting up the second part. There are more parts that are done for this retelling of the story, and I quite like getting into Effy's head. This story was actually meant to explain so much about Effy and letting her get stronger with her voice and become her true, aware, outspoken self, eventually, yes, ending with Keffy, but I'm not sure if I will ever get back to it, which I think is sad, but that's how life is - you can't have time for everything. If anyone's interested leave some reviews and I might get tempted to publish the Season 2 part, too.<em> _Effy is actually one of my favorite characters, so...yeah, I like this gem ;)_**  
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><p><strong>Season 1 Part 2<strong>

It all changed the day Tony was run over. I remember Michelle seeking me out before, trying to understand the tosser my brother was. He did what I didn't do. He trashed around, creating massive waves in his wake. He liked to provoke reactions. He was kind of a watcher, too. He was curious of how people reacted. Just that he didn't care what he conjured. And once it was done he got bored and left. Not giving it a second thought. He found out what happened, so he moved on, leaving the others behind in a tangle. Never once considering that it didn't leave them unharmed, too.

He didn't understand that they weren't looking on life from above like we did. We were like birds seeing the world beneath us. All the figures and nets between them. The difference - I was a Seagull while he was an Eagle. We glided through the air taking the world beneath us in. When we found something intriguing I would circle above it to just take it in. But he would dive for it, hunting his prey, playing with it, meanwhile unawarely wounding it. When he lost interest he came up again to fly onwards. By my side. He didn't understand they were experiencing it from the midst of life, being tossed from left to right. They cared. Michelle cared.

But I loved my brother. He was my everything. He watched out for me. He understood me or at least accepted the way I was and loved me for it. He didn't try to change me. So he was the only one I really trusted. But seeing what he did to Michelle, coming to understand the magnitude of his actions on her, a little part of the brother I treasured and admired was at risk to be questioned.

Before, I never did. What he did and how he looked out at life was like the amen in my church. Life is something we all have been thrown into and now have to deal with. You can play with it, like he did, or you can watch, like I did, or you can be, never wasting a thought. But one thing stays the same. Life is chaos and you are the one left alone to make sense of it, come to understand it, study it if you are smart. Too smart for your own good. We were. Smart. We didn't care about no one and knew how people ticked. We knew how life worked. We were special and also felt that way. Nothing could touch us.

"You're a wanker," I told my brother, minutes before the bus hit him. I had decided it was time to break the silence to set him straight after realizing what he did to others. Others who truly cared.

He shouldn't go on like this. Michelle was lovely. He was so much a part of her, but I think he didn't realize. If he hurt her more he'd ruin her. Her attached little heart was being screwed, blood dripping out from being wrung. Soon it would run dry for him and I knew he would hurt and wonder how that could have happened. He loved her. He didn't know it, but he did. They were a pair. Belonged together for as long as I can think.

When the bus hit him it was like life was saying, "Ha! Fuck you. You're not special. I can mess with you like I can mess with everybody else."

I knew he had just decided to apologize to Michelle. He rang her. Maybe he had realized that I was right. He was a wanker. Michelle loved him. I had seen it. She was ready to forgive him, because she really _really_ loved him. She cared. Even for me. She had fucking hugged me. And with that he had something I had not. He had something I didn't quite dare to believe in. Something I hadn't witnessed ever before in this world. True love. And he fucked with it.

I saw him wandering, searching for words, crossing the street...BAM.

Life decided he wasn't worth another chance. Not so easy.

I screamed. I couldn't understand.

I scrambled out of the, from Sid's dad stolen, red cooper and hurried to the street.

"No. No. No. No," I remember myself chanting feebly as I fell to my knees and collected his still body in my arms. Red. It flew over my hands and I tried to hold it in, screaming for somebody's help.

My voice surely still worked if it had to.

I could not lose my brother. He was the only one who cared.


End file.
